


Like a dream that you can't quite place

by orphan_account



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Canon Era, F/F, Not that much though, basically it's just fluff, but i kind of skate over it cuz im awkward and ace :/, but with the hamilton musical characters, i just dont want to write about white people lol, implied sex, implied vaginal fingering, there's angst too, there's sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 13:27:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7440970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A oneshot about Angelica Schuyler trying to escape from London's aristocracy and instead meeting Maria Lewis, a lowlife woman to whom Angelica has a strange affinity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a dream that you can't quite place

It was in London, on the eve of 1795, when Angelica Schuyler escaped from her country home for the big city.

Angelica, being a woman of high society, usually didn’t run in such low circles. But lately, she’d grown weary of seeing the same aristocrats, obnoxious men who bragged of their titles and snobbish women who turned up their nose if you ate a cucumber sandwich the wrong way. She needed a break. Angelica had slipped out of their estate while her husband was out game-hunting and clandestinely asked her chauffeur, Robert, to drive her into town.

She got out of the horse-drawn carriage daintily. Angelica found herself on a narrow street, the cobblestones reeking of sweat and urine. People stared at her, unaccustomed to seeing such a delicate-looking lady in the slums. Hopeless-looking men gathered drunkenly outside of pubs, whistling as she passed. One man even called out, “How many drinks will it take to get you to come home with me?” She snarled in his direction.

 _It probably would’ve been more prudent to wear something a bit simpler,_ she thought, raising her skirts to leap over a fetid puddle. The catcalls were becoming unbearable. She ducked into a busy tavern, situating herself at the bar.

“What do you want?” asked a grizzled bartender.

“Hard cider,” Angelica replied. “Or rum, if you have any.” The bartender grunted his approval and lurched off to fetch the drinks.

She rested her chin in her hand and let her thoughts wander. Her husband, John Church, was probably at home from his hunt by now. He was most likely wondering where she was.

John Church wasn’t remarkable. He was kind, wealthy, and good at making small talk, but Angelica couldn’t recall the last time the two of them had a real conversation. He was just another product of the English aristocracy.

“Hey,” said a woman’s voice. Angelica snapped out of her reverie.

“Hey yourself,” she replied warily.

“Can I sit with you?” asked the woman. She had a sweet, youthful face, despite being around Angelica’s age. Her skin was a creamy brown, tinted with rouge around the cheekbones, and her black hair fell in soft ringlets down to her shoulders. Angelica noticed that she had an American accent.

“Okay,” she said tentatively. She’d really come here to be alone, but at least she now had someone to drink with.

“What’s your name?” the woman asked.

“Angelica Schuyler,” she answered.

"I’m Maria, uh, Lewis,” said the woman. There was something suspicious about the way she said it. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“Of course,” Angelica returned gratefully. “But only if I buy you one first.” She was hoping for some alone time when she’d first escaped from the manor, but she soon realized that she quite liked Maria’s company.

“Are you from America?” Angelica asked after a few more drinks.

“Yeah,” Maria slurred. “Used to live there.”

“I used to live there too!” Angelica exclaimed. “What city?”

“Lived in New York,” she mumbled. “Then some bad things happened, an’ I divorced my husband, and I fled the country.” In these few moments, Maria looked as if she were about to cry. Then, as if remembering her composure, she sat up straight on the stool.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered into Angelica’s ear.

“What?”

“Let’s go back home,” Maria slurred. “My place. I have a flat in east London.”

“Okay,” Angelica consented.

The two women stepped outside and Angelica hailed a cab. It was nearly midnight by now, and both of them were sufficiently wine-sodden.

Maria’s apartment was on the poorer side of town, above a butcher’s shop. The stairs were narrow, and in one case, Angelica had to step over a drunken man, snoozing on the steps. Inside wasn’t much nicer either. There wasn’t much furniture, and clothes and boxes littered the ground.

“Do you want another drink?” asked Maria, and before Angelica could say yes, she pulled out a bottle of rum from the cabinet.

“What happened in New York?” Angelica queried, graciously accepting the beverage.

“Nothin’ important,” Maria waved off. For a moment, her happy facade melted away, only to return a second later. “Do you wanna see the bedroom?” she said with a devilish grin.

“Sure,” Angelica replied, smirking back.

She was experiencing a mix of emotions. Was Maria inviting her to have sex? This certainly felt like more than friendship, but it didn’t feel like love either. She knew what love felt like- at least she thought she did. She loved her husband. Nobody else. And, besides, she barely knew Maria. It would be wrong to have sex with her. Society wouldn’t allow it.

The only thing that she could relate to the present situation was an encounter she’d had with a man, back in 1780. She still remembered that night, even now. The man’s name was Alexander Hamilton, and he was currently married to Angelica’s sister. Back when they’d first met, he wasn’t- in fact, Angelica was the one to introduce him to her sister. Because she knew that being with him was wrong. He was destitute but opportunistic, and if she, the oldest of an influential and wealthy family, went after him, there would be hell to pay. He, of course, had made trouble for himself, in the end. But for some reason, she continued to think about him for many years to come.

Standing before Maria, she thought she saw the same penniless ambition in the woman’s eyes, the hunger, the neediness. She was just like Alexander. Maybe that was why she wrapped her arm around Maria’s waist, cupped Maria’s cheek with her spare hand. Maybe that was why she tilted her head downwards and kissed her, slow and sweet. She tasted like cheap rum and alcohol and sadness. And Angelica loved it. Every bit of it.

Kissing women was different than kissing men. Maria had obviously kissed a lot of both. She began softly and slowly, gauging Angelica’s level of interest, and when the other woman kissed back harder, she reciprocated, catching Angelica’s lower lip between her teeth. Angelica moaned and tilted her head back, allowing Maria to kiss her neck. They fell messily on the bed, legs and skirts tangled up. Angelica allowed Maria to remove her dress, petticoat and tournure, but when Maria’s fingers played with the hem of her corset cover and decency skirt, she stopped her.

“Do you think this is a good idea?” Angelica asked.

“Why?” Maria said, concerned. “Do you not want to?”

“No, God, I do,” she gasped as Maria bit her neck. “It’s just- people may talk,” she finished lamely.

“I’m not worried about my reputation,” snorted Maria. “I haven’t anything to lose. Look, you can just tell your husband that your friend fell ill and you had to comfort her or something.”

“Good idea,” said Angelica. “Carry on, then.”

Maria loosed the strings of her corset, and the rest followed quickly. The sex was intense and hot, and afterwards they lay tangled in one another, panting heavily.

“My husband’s never made me feel that way before,” Angelica breathed, almost wistfully.

“Well, people have told me I’ve got very nimble fingers,” Maria said slyly. Angelica almost laughed at this.

The room felt still and warm. Angelica rolled over sleepily. It was well past three am- no cabs were out this late. It seemed as if she’d have to stay here.

“Angelica?” Maria murmured.

“Yes?” she replied, turning again to face the other woman.

“My name’s not really Lewis,” she whispered. Angelica sat upright in bed.

“You what?”

“It’s Reynolds,” she said. “Maria Reynolds.” Angelica’s heart pounded. Where had she heard that name before?

“I didn’t want to tell you my real name,” she added, “because I’ve been getting a lot of bad press lately.”

Reynolds. The Reynolds pamphlet. Alexander Hamilton- her brother-in-law, her ex-lover- had written a pamphlet. It was supposed to clear up the embezzling rumors that had surrounded his name for so long, but instead started a new rumor- that he had cheated on his wife with a certain Maria Reynolds, and had been paying her husband to keep quiet about the affair.

“You’re Maria Reynolds,” Angelica said with a sudden realization. “From the Reynolds Pamphlet.” She rounded on the woman angrily, all traces of sleepiness gone. “You helped Alexander Hamilton cheat on my sister!”

To Angelica’s surprise, Maria burst into tears. “Oh, Angelica- please forgive me! My husband- well, he said he’d hurt me if I didn’t-”

All of Angelica’s anger dissolved just as quickly as it had come. In her opinion, men who beat their wives were not men at all. They were pigs. She rushed to Maria’s side.

“I’m so sorry I got mad,” Angelica whispered, patting the weeping woman on the back. “I understand your predicament completely- and besides, my brother-in-law _could've_ said no.”

“Thank you,” Maria gasped, wiping away tears. “My husband wanted me to seduce him, because he said we needed the money-” At this point, she broke down into fresh sobs.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” she murmured. “What happened then?”

“Well, after the pamphlet was published, I couldn’t go outside. People would throw stones at me and call me a whore,” she choked out. “My husband- he was mad that it became public knowledge, and he beat me up very badly.”

“I’m so sorry,” Angelica said, cradling Maria in her arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“So I had to divorce him. He didn’t like that.” she whispered. “He said he was going to find me.”

“So you moved to London?” Angelica asked kindly.

“I moved to London,” Maria affirmed.

They sat there in silence, Maria crying, Angelica rocking her back and forth, like what a mother would do for a sick child. Finally, Maria was able to calm down. Angelica brushed back the curls from the other woman’s face and kissed her, on the forehead. Maria was getting drowsy, so she pulled the covers over her. Angelica checked the raggedy-looking grandfather clock. It was five o’clock in the morning. Her husband was probably worried sick about her- not that she cared that much, but people would begin to feel suspicious if she stayed at Maria’s any longer. She wrote a short note and left it on the nightstand, then gathered her belongings and unlatched the door. Angelica tiptoed down the dank-smelling stairwell, where the drunken man was still fast asleep. Gingerly, she stepped out onto the cobblestone street, where the sun was beginning to rise in the distance. _Back to my normal life,_ she thought to herself, but Angelica knew in her heart that she'd never forget that night. And that she'd never forget Maria Reynolds.

**Author's Note:**

> Gosh I've always wanted to write a fic like this! The Hamilton fandom needs more lesbians.  
> Go check out my blog @justlamsthings!!


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